Quickly
she fills her quiver with arrows from the goblin's, and beheads the
creature before heading off into the think undergrowth of the forest by
the side of the road.

They'll be expecting their scout back
sometime this evening, at latest. I'd best make sure I'm far from here
when they come looking for him.

She is no more than 100 feet
from where the goblins body lay, when a gentle flapping from behind her
catchs her ear. She slows and stops, peering off into the distance,
away from the noise, and begins forming the words in her mind.

Uthum
nodum diso nordoro she quietly speaks, while moving the hand not
holding her bow in front of her body, so as to hid it from the thing
behind her. A feeling of nausea comes over her, directed straight
through the back of her head, at the sound of the flapping.

It knows I can use the arcane. Let's see if it lives to tell what it knows. I must be quick now...

Still
peering off in the distance, she reachs for her quiver, knocks and
arrow and aims far off in front of her. In one swift move, she spins,
and fires at the thing on the branch.

A raven...I should have
guessed - she thinks as the silver-tipped arrow sails toward the
astirax-possessed raven. It meets its mark with a satisfying thud,
quickly and efficiently killing raven and astirax. As the bird falls,
she quickly walks over to its body, and plucks a long feather from its
wing, as well as retreiving her precious silver arrow head. Reaching
below her thick jacket, still needed with the chill in the air, she
pulls out a delicate necklace, made of simple twine threaded with over
a dozen feathers from all sorts of birds. She quickly adds the raven
feather to the necklace before making her way the many miles back to
camp via a purposely circuitous route. Anyone following her path would
have to pass no fewer than 3 of the tower's outer sentries, all of whom
greeted her (in patrol sign, of course) very warmly. And who
wouldn't. Stealth and cunning where her tools, and astiraxes her
target. Goblins were just sport, something to use her magic against to
draw out the horrid daemons from their lazy roosts. That's when the
real fun began. As she passes by Drithil, the tower's blacksmith, she
gives him a very warm hug, and thanks him again (as she did everytime
she added a charm to her necklace) for the silver broadheads he so
carefully crafted for her arrows. He just smiles back, before going
back to his anvil.

They were a team, the two of them. His
weapons and her skills, used to keep their tower safe from the forces
of the shadow. They safe-guarded the tower, and the tower safeguarded
Veradeen. It was that simple.

They had both been born in the
Veradeen, and had known no other home. Their parents were tower
guardians as well, Teliir's mother and father were both outer guards,
those lone warriors responsible for being the tower's eyes and ears.
Drithil's mother had been a great fighter, charging into battle and
bringing home many trophies. His father was a blacksmith, like
himself. He had picked up the talent at an early age, and for all its
limited resources, the tower could never have enough blacksmiths. Many
around the tower whispered rumors about Teliir and Drithil, and they
did nothing to stop it. Why try and hide the truth, especially in a
group as small and tight-knit as their tower. It was had to find
companionship in these dark days. Someone to feel comfortable with, to
help you ignore the press of the Shadow, even for a little while.

Both
of them lost their parents in the latest war, the war that the Shadow
won. Some called it the Final War. The last stand against evil, where
good had lost, and been driven from the field of battle. But it was
not the last war. Not so long as their tower stood. Not so long as
Teliir and Drithil stood, side by side, to fend off the Shadow with
force of steel. They would hold, and because they held, Veradeen would
hold; and maybe, just maybe, they would live to see the real 'Final
War.' The one where Aradil smites Izrador, and the world is returned
to the way it was, before the spread of the darkness.